


Melt into the Shadows (and Weep)

by UTBS279



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Redemption, Family Drama, Gen, Hating one's skin, Illusions, Magic and Sorcery, Mama Frigga trying her best, Mistakes, Nightmares, Original Charater - Freeform, PTSD of some sort, Papa Odin trying his best, Regret, Seidr, Some other stuff I forgot, Somewhat coerced, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Unknown Entity - Freeform, Unreliable Narrator, insecure, vague mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-04-27 23:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14436861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UTBS279/pseuds/UTBS279
Summary: [Time Travel AU]"My, my small god." The voice is taunting, low and raspy. "Desperate enough to come and seek a deal, I presume."Loki does not waver, his gaze is transfixed upon the unnerving sight. His voice is sharp, and with authority he announces, "Thor is dead. Of course I'm desperate."The cackle that follows penetrates through his soul, and all Loki can do is hope he hasn't made a horrible mistake.[On an indefinite hiatus]





	1. His Return

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kinda stuck with my other story, so I decided to post this one.

  
**o-o-o**

  
_“What is your name?” Loki asks. He gets comfortable in his seat once again, his face shrouded in shadows. The darkness that reeks from all corners of the room adds to the already tense atmosphere. “What should I call you?”_

  
_“Nothing, child,” a curt and emotionless voice purrs from across him, “because then, when you try to blame someone, it shall not be me. For the fault is on you. It always has been.”_

  
_Loki smiles tightl_ _y. And it's not only because his lips are chapped. “Alright,” he says._ _He leans back in his chair, trying to steal a glance underneath the hood._

  
_The mass in front of him shifts back, hands raising in the air. “Let us begin,” the voice says, as they recite some words under their breath._

_“Alright,” Loki murmurs, his hands clamped together. “Alright . . . ”_

_Suddenly, the scenery in front of them changes, breaks and forms, and twists and bends. Loki close his eyes as he braces for the impact of anything._  
_And then time stops, and restarts._

**o-o-o**

  
In the beginning, it's a whirling sensation followed by a burst of colors. It happens so quickly, there is no time to piece things together. No time to think.

  
The first thing Loki's mind registers, now fully conscious, is that he's falling. His hair brushes against his skin gently, and his clothing tatters against his thin frame. But as he strains his ears, he comes to realize that there is no wind. There is no sound, there is nothing.

And he is falling.

It’s fuel to his panic. Like a match falling onto oil, the panic seeps and spreads everywhere until all Loki can feel is a pressure in his midsection that makes it hard to breathe. The familiar feeling is horribly sickening.

Despair begins to crawl up his neck. It slowly wraps itself around his throat and pulls.

Loki blinks furiously, swallowing and clawing at his neck as he tries to grasp the loose ends. He catapults downwards, falling and falling and falling, and he forces his body to twist.

He’s expecting something—anything really. But as he forces his head to look downwards, the only thing he can see is darkness. It pales in comparison with the Void, but it is still dark.

In the middle of a supposedly glorious triumph, strain and fear hatches in his heart. There is relief the deal seems to have worked, but there is also dread. Too much dread. The latter is consuming his thoughts, and Loki feels his heart hammering against his ribcage.  
After a few minutes—or what seems like minutes—it occurs to Loki, that maybe the wicked Sorceress has tricked him. It dawns on his thoughts like the rising sun. Slow and progressive at first, until it is suddenly there.

In a suddenly blind panic that engulfs his being, Loki twists and turns violently. His heart flutters and pounds at a millions miles when the realization takes hold.  
Endless falling. A bottomless pit. Nothing but wretched thoughts that twist and rewrite themselves as the minutes turn into hours, until he is so sure no time has passed at all.  
Voices start hiss in his head. They laugh and chatter in excitement.

_[This is just like the Void.]_

It is almost as if the oxygen that is present is sucked out. A buzz rings through his head and the only thing Loki had do is exist. His mind reels back to his encounter. He dissects her movements, much like his own, to see a mistake. And as his brain unscrambles the events of before, he catches too many mistakes.

He’s told her too much, he hisses with a jolt of humiliation. Foolishly relapsing back to his ever present emotions, he’d let himself become vulnerable.  
His mind clouds with horrible thoughts, until a spurt of relief shakes his core.

The Sorceress would not be foolish enough to trick him, having as much part of the pact as he did. But despite the hope that stretches along his body and calms him some, he is not able to shake off another feeling.

He comes to realize that with pacts, trust was needed. Neither of both parties had been good at telling the truth or trustful. Yet, Loki had allowed her to have a peek at his thoughts. Surely, just merely skimming the surface was not enough to find much.

But Loki’s memory comes back to him in a quick succession. (‘Specific requests? Any more questions?’ The sorceress had asked him. ‘No,’ he had answered.)

Loki closes his eyes and breathes. He puts his hand over his ears and squeezes hard.

The dry, small laughter of the Sorceress rings in his ears. She had known—of course she had.

As the nausea rolls in, Loki vows to make her pay. But he lets the loose threat fall away as he does, knowing that it was his own doings as well.

But she had known. Daring, hinting, knowing what Loki still fears, when he himself had purposely and subsequently shoved the memories into the darkest depths of his mind.

So, Loki plummets downwards, he eventually gets used to he pit in his stomach that churns and twists. He wonders if there is even an end.

The thought that there isn't, makes him dizzy.

_[Playing with you and your emotions is what she does best.]_

_[It would make sense. She knows what happened.]_

He nods to himself desperately, repeating the mantra in his head. His shoulders are still tense and his fists are coiled so tightly, he draws blood from his palms. Loki tries closing his eyes, as if to drown the silence that is everlasting and present. He even prays to the Norns, who had failed him in another life, to stop falling soon.  
And this time, it appears they listen.

**o-o-o**

The impact is more painful that he anticipates it to be, but nonetheless he is grateful.

Loki lands on his left side—his weaker side. Pain blossoms like a rose, and sends sharp pulses all the way down to his feet before repeating the gruesome cycle. It is so horrible he is sure he will die. He feels himself start to fade, start to lose consciousness-

but mercy is something that is always denied from him. That and so many things.

The air in his already strained lungs immediately leaves him when his mouth opens in a breathless sob. Jolts of electricity singe his body. But he makes no noise as he is left gasping like a fish, clawing uselessly at his chest.

The heavy pressure around his ribs is agonizingly painful that it hurts to think. Black spots start to cloud his vision. Purples and blues mix, they dance in front of his eyes until Loki isn't able to make out his stuttering chest in front of him that yearns for air. Then, he starts makes choking sounds. They are involuntary humiliating whimpers and unintended groans. They make his cheeks burn with red up despite having all reasons to.

And he lays there, mouth agape, fingers digging into the ground. His face strains as he draws wheezing gasps of air, and beads of sweat run down his sullen face. Darkness eventually claims him into her greedy grip. And again, he is grateful.

**o-o-o**

When Loki wakes, he finds that can breathe more easily. Knives and javelins to his side still render him paralyzed if he moves too quickly, but at least he can breathe with more ease. Yet, finding that he can breath, he also finds that he cannot fully relax, for in doing so his body shifts. It sends flares that make him see white. So he decides to wait. He counts the seconds in his head as the jagged edges of a blade dull down to simple throbs.

Keeping his eyes shut, he slowly uncurls himself from his stiff position. It takes hours, days, even years, maybe. Centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch, sweat pouring down from all directions, and finally he is sitting.

Everything hurts, but he is alive. The pain is a constant reminder that he is still alive.

Despite with the spots now gone from his vision, he does not open his eyes. Listening to his breathing, even with the ragged huffs he takes, manages to calm him down. And ever so slowly, he untucks his hand and lets it settle onto the ground.

He is somewhat shocked his hand touches on a cool temperate surface. He lets his fingertips run over the gravel-like ground, and traces patterns onto it—symbols and runes.

The steady silence around him now is somewhat calming. It is not like the silence in the Void, which drives one nearly to madness. For once, Loki’s glad he can hear himself take in weak quivering breathes.

And then, a thought strikes him so suddenly it takes all his willpower not to laugh. But he does anyways from relief. He quickly regrets the idea when his laugh turns into a coughing fit.

It takes time, too much of it, or none at all when Loki is finally able to stand. His body trembles and sways, stomach lurches and churns. His legs feel as if someone has tied an anchor to it, for they feel like lead. Dark and deadly.

His surroundings consist of an endless gray that extends for miles and miles and miles until it blends with the sky. Loki gingerly takes a step forward, and stumbles horribly.

He pauses to gather his bearings. Rage now fueling his emotions, he takes another forceful step. And another, and-

all at once, there is a white blinding light that seems to penetrate all the way down his skull. He cradles his head, his eyes feeling bloodshot and-

a muffled voice enters through his ears.

The voice itself is strong enough that it sends vibrations through the floor. This is not as comforting as Loki hopes.

He does not turn, his eyes do not open, and he does not make a sound.  
The voice seems to notice Loki's silence, for they pause for a moment. Then, starting again, this time more urgent. Loki realizes that they must be talking to him, but he can't

seem to move his tongue to form a response. It feels like lead in his mouth. The voice stops again, pausing for a mere second before resuming.

That’s when the shaking starts. It’s rough, and Loki supposes it's because he doesn't —can't—answer. Whoever is talking to him is getting angry, that much is clear.

Tying to free himself of the iron grip they have on his shoulder that sends jolts of pain all the way down to his feet, suddenly, as if someone has unplugged Loki's ears, sound comes rushing back to him all at once.

“Loki,” a voice says from somewhere near him. “Loki!”

Loki opens his eyes and is met with a spectacular sight. Everything is golden, polished and delicately designed. Patterns and circles are embedded into such structures.

Although the room is gold, and perceives of greatness, it still holds a chilling darkness.

He comes to realize, that he is somewhere completely different from where he landed.

“Loki,” a tired voice snaps.

Loki turns, keeping his eyes at floor level, which also bear similar markings.

And as his eyes slowly lift from the glittering reflected surface to the person standing in front of him, unease settles at the base of his heart. The body language is so familiar. The voice is familiar. The soft fabrics woven intrinsically by hand that represent the highest of royalty are familiar.

He looks up ever so slowly and is met by a bold, icy eye. A small breeze seems to whip by, and the combination of the glare allows for chills to run down his spine. But he does not move.

“All-Father,” Loki whispers, testing out his now clear voice. “All-Father.”

There, standing tall, firm and noticeably younger-looking in front of him, is Odin himself. His features are softer, less harsh and crooked. Wrinkles of old age still litter his skin, but his eyes less serious, yet still hardened by the troubles of this time.

Although the voice contradicts his looks, the mere sight of Odin makes Loki truly realize how back he has gone.

_[How intriguing, isn’t it?]_

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Loki waits for a reaction, but Odin simply raises an eyebrow and stares at him. For a split second Loki’s heart twist, fearing that Odin sees right through him. Fears that Odin can see that he does not belong here. His heart pounds as the All-Father’s eye bears into his own pair.

_[The fake of a fake. Deceiver, a liar. Traitor. A monster.]_

“Loki,” Odin says, his voice now resigned, tired. Gungnir is still grasped tightly around his palm. “Let this be a lesson to you for future events and to anyone who commits treason.”

_[Treason? Is Thor’s accidental death treason?]_

Loki shifts slightly, mouth turning upwards in confusion. “I don’t understand,” he allows in the most innocent voice he can conjure. But it’s true, he does not understand.

_[How far back have you traveled, boy? Do you not know?]_

Odin’s demeanor changes in a flash. His diminished anger is replaced by an authoritative voice. “You know for what, boy,” he says, voice tight. “I am not as foolish and ignorant as Thor, for I know you may have influenced his deep rooted thoughts. Let this be an example for you too.”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Oh . . . ?”

“Do not cause more trouble. Thor got what he deserved,” Odin reassures before turning.

Loki narrows his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips when he tries to remember what Thor had done to deserve death.

He does not yet now where he is, or what has taken place. Yet, seeing and understanding that Odin still grasps at his reigns, Loki can guess that he has traveled back quite a bit.

All thoughts are dispersed when Odin begins in a loud booming voice. “Heimdall,” Odin says, voice soft. “Keep an eye on Thor, make sure he does not do anything stupidly foolish. And make sure that the Bifrost stays guarded.” Odin turns to look at Loki. “Let us be on our way.”

It is now that Loki realizes he and Odin are not the only ones in the Observatory. He turns his head ever so slowing, catching dark skin and golden armour from his peripheral. And he cannot stop the small smile that forms on his lips.

A twisted hatred blossoms in his heart, but Loki shoves it down, knowing that Heimdall had his reasons for betraying the throne so long ago. “Heimdall,” he says, jaw tightening as he bobs his head in greeting. “Hello.”

“Prince Loki, hello,” Heimdall acknowledges, before impassively pulling his sword from its place. He turns to face Odin. Golden, seeing eyes locking into his. “I shall see that the Bifrost remains free of enemies, my King.” He bows in an apologetic way.

He still doesn’t know what has occured. Choosing his words carefully, Loki turns to the All-Father. He uses words that cannot possibly be dissected for hidden messages or taken wrongly. “Can I take a moment to recollect myself?”

Odin turns to face Loki again, his lips pressed into a thin line and his voice tense. “Make haste, boy. Let us make way back to the palace. We must discuss Thor’s banishment to the others.”

Loki follow mutley, and robotically as he furrowed his eyebrows. He walks slowly. Gingerly. Placing and taking steps to not flame his wound. Thor has been banished, that is what has occured.

He can feel a flush of frustration creep up to his cheeks, not fully remembering what has transpired for such events to take place. He feels like rubbish, cursing at his mind and starts to dig. He rakes at his brain and bites his tongue as he drags his feet. And when Loki he looks up to the sight on front of him, bile rises to his throat so quickly he freezed midstep.

As Odin walks ahead, his words falling away from his lips, the only thing Loki can do is breathe. His eyes roam and stare at all the darkness that flows endlessly beside the Bifrost. He gapes at the unbroken city with warm lights that sees devoid of any destruction.

“Loki,” Odin calls, looking tiredley behind him. “We shall discuss this in depth with Frigga, too, for it is needed. Make haste, for I shall not hesitate to leave to meet you at the palace.” His tone is a warning. Walking towards the exit, he sends a farewell wave to Heimdall.

_[The Queen of Asgard, Frigga. She lives.]_

Loki feels the blood from his face drain away. His hands tremble by his side with the realization. The Queen, Frigga, his mother still lives. Any disdain he’s had with Heimdall, any apprehensive thoughts he’s had towards the All-Father are suddenly gone. Hope flowers in his chest and spreads like a eagle spreading its wings. It soothes his tense shoulders and diminishes the pain from his surely-broken ribs.

_[Does it make sense now, princeling? Odin and Heimdall don’t yet act as if you’re a monster.]_

“The All-Mother,” Loki says, his voice calm and collected despite he’s sure it will shatter any minute. He pauses, breathes quickly but silent. “She will be most displeased.”

“Aye, of course” Odin nods sullenly, climbing up onto his horse. “She will be most displeased with Thor’s sudden banishment.”

_[Banishment . . . Thor’s been banished and Frigga lives. The city flourishes, no destructing has become of it.]_

_I_ t all makes sense now. He feels absurd, utterly foolish and stupid that it he did not fully connected the pieces. But voices start to hiss in his mind. They hold panic, and Loki's stomach twists from nerves and the feeling of helplessness. The dull pulses and throbs are starting to return.

_[This is a mistake. We’ve gone too far back, too far!]_

[We were only here to save Thor! We can’t prevent everything!]

But he can try.

_[This is before anything! This is before everything!]_

Loki averts his eyes, and trains them on Odin, who combing Sleipnir mane. 

_[You fool, have you come to realize it only now? Of course we’ve gone too far.]_

Again, the speed and succession of which everything comes back hits Loki like the green beast had. He almost collapses with relief and despair as the piece are now woven together.

Odin gallops away, not once turning to look back if his pawn is behind him. Loki does not let it bother him. He raises a shaky hand and touches his hair, before rearing his fingers back when they come in contact with dampness. The cool breeze and chills were remnants of his time in Jotunheim.

This is the day Thor was to be coronated.

_[Frigga lives and you haven’t yet fallen.]_

Loki has so much time, he does not know where to begin. There are so many opportunities, deals, chances that are available. Things he can stop and possibly avoid, things he can stop from happening because he knows.

He tries piecing things together as such thoughts fly in his mind, sometimes away from his grasp. But when Loki snaps back to reality, Odin is just but a speck traveling down the Bifrost, and Heimdall is facing the vast darkness or the cosmos.

As Loki limps aimlessly to his steed that is inconveniently too far and too close to the edge, the only thing he can do is shake with rage and bold triumph. Once he is sure that no one can hear him, Loki tilts his head up to the stars above him. He lets out an agonizing laugh as as his lungs beg for air and the walls of darkness seem to close around him.

The Norns have heard his prayers.

 

 

 


	2. Realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got to see IW Sunday and I was not ready despite the 4 seconds of spoilers I saw that made my soul leave my body.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_“I have no desire to waste my time in petty things,” he says, picking at a healing scab on his arm. “I’ll get right down to the point. How are deals sealed?”_

_A chuckle resonates through the room; the amusement as clear as Loki’s seriousness. “Mostly, I have to have your word,” she says. “And a signed contract that requires . . . some pain.”_

_“That’s it?” Loki rubs his knuckles warily. “Is there anything else I should know?”_

_“There is always a price for everything,” she says. “But there are some things even I cannot do.” As if it’s forbidden to talk about the mere thought, her voice lowers. “You must know that even I cannot bring back ones who have left, their light gone from their eyes. But I can do something even better.”_

_Loki knows of the better deal. He’s done the research himself, of course, and takes the bait. He leans, gaze fixed as he  sounds wholefully intrigued. “So, what can I trade for your services?”_

_An malicious laugh sends chills up his spine, but he keeps his posture fixed and straight._

_“Sometimes I go for hearts,” she says, “eyes. Voices, thoughts, memories. Anything worth something. But you child, you are a  . . . special case. I require something more.”_

_Loki closes his eyes as the words flow from his mouth. “My soul.”_

_“Precisely.”_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Once Loki successfully reaches the other side of the vast Bifrost, fear now dwindling down from the base of his throat to his stomach, he testingly taps against his bruised rib; which is very much bruised and sore.

He casts a weary glance at the passing gardens and homes, before his concern melts away. The secure buildings are a somewhat joyful reminder that death and loss and despair has not yet struck the people and families in the upcoming years.

_[See? Another good reason to have come back so far.]_

The palace’s entrance comes into view, growing bigger and taller with every second. And as Loki arrives, unskillfully clambersing off his horse, he stumbles off from lack of practice. The servants who stand outside quickly tend to him, casting each other worried side-glances at his mishap. They take his young steed away, but do not seem to dare ask questions.

Loki takes the time to uncoil, not bothered by their silence—something he is used to. He cranes his neck despite that it strains and hurts, and he looks up. He takes in the view and scene of the palace; long, golden and beautiful pillars stretch height above.

_[This is a new beginning as you can see.]_

Loki does not turn to look back to see how far he has traveled. There is no need to, for he knows he has traveled very far: both in distance and time.

Making sure that his sleeves are pulled down to the length of his wrists, Loki trots elegantly on the path to the palace, casually shrugging off the intense glares he gets from people who pass. And with a steady, confident posture that tugs at his weakened side, a head held up high in a regal matter, Loki slithers into heart of an empire.

_[This is going to be so much fun.]_

**o-o-o**

With eyes scanning the designs carved into the marble pillars; Loki recalls this was a place he had once he called home. His confidence surprises him; he walks into the empty halls of his youth with so much ease.

As he wanders deeper into the palace, he begins to see the guards. They are positioned everywhere, bearing weapons and and stoic faces. Out of instinct and from old surfacing memories, Loki stops his trot for a split second as he waits to be apprehended by them.

He stands rigid and tense, bracing himself for rough hands that push and pull.

But they don’t come.

Only then, it occurs to him that the guards don’t know anything.

He promptly ignores the voices that hiss in his head, scorning him, telling him to run, or attack, or do something so that he is not apprehended. The stare he gives them is steady and cunning, so _bold,_ it surprises him that they do not avert their eyes to show respect.

His heartbeat quickens as the tension starts to seep in between his shoulders again. The guards in turn stare him down, and Loki nonchalantly keeps walking. He passes more of them on his way, but they do not look at him. They do not even spare him a glance. Loki supposes with a wince, that in another life, they had been ready to attack him. Ready to apprehend and push, even even kill.

He comes to a sinking conclusion, and with a hint of sadness that they do not yet fear him. They do not respect him. No looks of hatred are shot his way, nor are insults hurled at him. They do not avert their eyes, or bow.

They do not know he is a bomb waiting to explode. One false step, and a path of havoc and destruction will replace one of serenity, ignorance and bliss.

They do not know he is a _monster_.

_[Not yet.]_

Loki suppresses a smirk. Striding ahead, he lets his once-light footsteps echo down the hall.  

**o-o-o**

His mission is to find the library before Odin requires his presence.

The library—being of course a place of silence—is the only place that holds useful information. It is a place Loki can plan, plot and think.

He needs knowledge. He needs to learn new runes for spell work. He needs too many things at the moment, that his minds slinks back to remembering. The hall where he has wandered to, is silent and lit. But Loki's mind is loud and dark and _restless_ . He start to think up of reasons, any logical explanations or something to explain why he was sent back so _unexplainably_ far.

_[You have no right to complain. This is better]_

But is it truly? To start all over again? To relive the moments he had despised most?

_[Anything is better, wouldn’t you agree?]_

Loki unconsciously lets his hand slide over his heart, fingers skimming over the fabric he wears. Feeling the now-steady rhythm of his heart beating, he lets his eyes roam to reacquaintance and familiarize themselves with exits, hiding places or anything that might be helpful in the future.

_[Make haste, child. Find the library-]_

“Loki!” a voice all but yells. The words are brash, loud and feminine.

Loki doesn't turn, knowling all too well as his mind works gears, immediately pinpointing the source. He has no time to react to harsh grip on his shoulder that spins him around and sends waves of pain down his weakened side.

To cover up any noise that threatens to escape his mouth, Loki grunts, already armed with a hardened face and cruel words. “Lady Sif,” he says with distaste. A scowl plastered all over his features, eyebrows rising as he snorts. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sif’s cheeks are a shade of fading rose and the tip of her nose pink. Aside from _knowing,_ there is no indication that Sif had ever left Asgard. “This is no time for crude humor, Loki.”

Strategically peeling her cold hand from his shoulder, Loki takes a step back. “Sarcasm, my dear Sif, not humour.” He hums thoughtfully. “I did not expect you to come looking for me.”

Sif ignores his attitude and matches his scowl. “Aye, but I did. Now, follow me.”

Loki nearly laughs. He has more time that he could ever imagine, but he doesn’t have time for _this_ . He displays cheeky grin that earns himself a sour face from Sif. Ignoring the disdain, he opens his mouth to decline the offer as politely as he can, but before he can even start to form the words, Sif grabs him by _that_ wrist and gets ready to drag him away.

Pulses that shake his body, and the sizzling in his mind that clearly sends a warning, allows for such shameful behavior. Before Loki can gather his bearings to react properly, or carefully, he rips his hand from Sif’s so suddenly, she loses her balance.

Crossing his arms over his chest; heart hammering and his side flaring up again, Loki snaps, “Do not touch me.” Sounding semi-annoyed, he adds, “I have places to be, woman.”

Sif’s glare is not as nearly as intimidating as his own, but her eyes scream with fury. “Do not mock me, fool,” she hisses, before regaining her calm. “If you’re injured I’ll accompany you to the- ”

“Do not worry yourself over me, I am not injured,” Loki says. “I have somewhere else to be.”

Sif narrows her eyes. “Aye? Where might that be?”

With a scoff and an eye roll, Loki says, “With the All-Father of course. He requires for my presence.” He crosses his arms. “And one cannot simply ignore his commands, for he is king.”

Sif’s features turn even more disapproving. “You lie, trickster,” she says, anger laced in her words, “for I have seen the All-Father. He talks to the Queen. Surely, if your presence is required, he will call for it soon. Now come.”

_[You cannot win a losing battle.]_

“Alright,” Loki answers. “I shall follow you in your petty journey.”

Reluctantly, Loki follows. Together they walk down the hall, rounding corners tainted with shadows, and no words exchanged. Loki knows better, though. He can feel a question on Sif’s lips, but she does not ask anything, and he ignores it. Just like he ignores the worried glances cast to him.

**o-o-o**

The doors are thrown open with strength that Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun who’re all seated near the fire, deep conversation,  turn to the sudden noise that echoes through the halls.

“I have brought Loki,” Sif says loudly, and closes the doors behind them.

Loki lets himself linger by entrance as it comes back to him slowly. The design of the walls, the setup of the room, and the way everyone is seated; he remembers. He recalls at least five different ways to exit, and two more ways to silently escape unnoticed.

“Sit down, Loki,” Hogun says, voice grim, uninviting. “You do not plan to stand there, aye?”

“I do not need an invitation to sit, Hogun,” Loki says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I was going to do so anyways.”

Volstagg laughs. “Is it me, or is Loki in quite a mood?”

Loki ignores the biting comment, well aware that he is a silent and quiet bystander in this time. As much as it angers him, he keeps quiet and clamps down on his snapping tongue.  And as he sits down, careful not to cause irritation to his unpredicted wounds, Sif starts.

“I brought Loki here to discuss important matters,” she says. “We’re here to talk about Thor.”

“Aye,” Fandral says. He sits up and leans in. “Do you know where he is?”

“There are rumors,” Sif cuts in, casting Loki an expecting look, “of Thor's banishment.”

“Is that so?” Loki asks. He tugs at his sleeve.

“Well, is it true?” Fandral asks.“Rumors do not start if there was not some truth to them.”

It takes him awhile to answer. His silence speaks in volumes, for the four start to get realtess. Loki can't seem to remember if they had learned of Thor's banishment from him, Heimdall, Odin, or another person. “And if it is true?” he finally says. “Nothing can be done, for when All-Father makes his decisions, they are just and final.”

Fandral leans back. “We saw the Bifrost reopen. No doubt you were there when it happened, for the All-Father forbade you to leave. We've already started to talk amongst ourselves-”

“Clearly, this is a waste of my time,” Loki says abruptly, getting up slowly. “Why barrage me questions if you already know the answers to them? Surely all of you are not dumb enough to not put the pieces together?”

His answer is met by silence; a thoughtful silence.

_[Words said like poison, but they hold the truth.]_

“You came back and you didn't even try to find us, yo _alert_ us of what had happened to Thor,” Sif says, grounding out the words. “It makes it seem like you do not care. Is it not right to wonder?”

Loki is impressed by her persistence in trying to pin the blame on him. A playfulness and calm feeling rises in his heart. He tries not to laugh in a sullen situation, and in mock hurt, he raises his hand. “You wish to question my reason for not informing you of something shameful?”

“Thor should not have been banished. He was to be crowned prince today, but his chances were ruined by the unexpected turn of events…” Sif says, her steely eyes gazing through him. A silent phrase rings through the air: _You ruined his chance._

“Nothing I can do will bring Thor back.” Loki shrugs, dismissing her words. “The All-Father didn’t let me defend Thor, didn’t even look at me.” He casts a woeful expression onto his face.

This time, it's Fandral who speaks, intervening the exchanged accusations. “Peace, Loki. We were merely worried. We thought that with confronting you, it would ease our troubled minds.”

Loki straightens. Tension rolls off of him and onto the floor in dark waves as Sif insists, “You need to convince the All-Father to bring him back.”

“Perhaps you did not hear me Sif,” Loki says, voice harsh. “I cannot do _anything_.”

“What is with your hateful attitude?” Sif closes her mouth, jaw tightening. “It makes it seem like you care not for Thor. He is your brother. Do you love him not?”

_[To think you once mourned as a young child, wishing to become friends with these pigs.]_

It is almost impossible to stop it. Having to deal with such mindless and ignorant brutus truly causes him pain. And as anger—unmistakable frustration—boils his inside full force, a dull echo of pain runs through his mind: another warning.

_[You will let you anger cloud your judgment that you supposedly left in your past?]_

Loki steadily clasps his hands, realizing with glee he needs to get rid of them at some point. Only crackle of the wood is heard over his small chuckle he can’t hold.

“It would be most helpful to give details of Thor’s banishment as to end it, or shorten it, than to laugh at misfortune,” Volstagg says quietly.

“I'm not laughing at him or his misfortune,” Loki says solemnly. He lowers his clasped hands to his side, carefully choosing his next words. “Yes, Thor is very dear to me, and I can say that his foolishness has all hurt us deeply. But his banishment will teach him a lesson.”

Sif stands up, eye wide as if a realization has just struck her. “It was all your fault wasn't it?” she asks, curiosity and disbelief intertwined into her voice. “The reason Thor was banished...you and the silvertongue of yours could have fueled All-Fathers actions.”

Loki stays silent, mouth agape in surprise and awe from her conclusion. Quickly setting aside the shock, he bunches his hands into tight fists. “Watch who you talk to, _woman_.”

“You are not denying it!” Sif exclaims, tossing her wild hair onto her back as she spins back. “I— _we_ should’ve know this was all your wicked planning!”

_[There goes your so called tactical planning of what you say.]_

Volstagg cut in suddenly, raising his hands for everyone to calm down. “Sif!” he chides tensley. “You do not know of what you speak of. It’s not wise to keep belittling him with accusations.”

Hogun nods slowly. “No...it would not be wise.”

Sif silently fumes. “You dare defend him? He has not denied-”

“You haven’t given me a chance, Sif. All your panicked yapping silences the truth,” Loki replies, tone and voice hard, and not at all exposing how truly angered his is. “Thor was a fool, you know it, I know it, the All-Father knows it.  He was the one to influence with his so-called words of honor to get us to go _willingly_ Jotunheim. He was ignorant enough to go and _fight_ than to think first! Always acting upon rage and emotion!”

Fandral is the only one who hasn’t spoken in awhile, and with the piercing glaze Loki sends his way, Loki is sure he will stay silent. “Thank you all, for wasting my precious time,” Loki says finally.  The pain in his side, and the burst of emotions leaves him feeling woozy and unbalanced.

_[Looking at these fools makes you blood boil, doesn’t it?]_

_[_ You _are the fool. Always acting upon worthless emotions.]_

The room has so suddenly engulfed itself in another thoughtful silence _so_ uncomfortable, Loki can't stand it. The air is thick with unspoken angers, and Loki’s lungs strain for fresh air.

“Now if you will excuse me,” Loki cuts in, leaving no room for excuses, “I have more important things to do. Do not bother to come look for me.”

He casts a particular look to Sif, and she turns her head to another direction.

Fandral talks now, getting up from where he rest with an arm outstretched and face apologetic. “We are terribly sorry for the accusations, Loki. We hope you forgive us, soon...”

Loki heads to the door, his own hand outstretched to the handle. “Aye, s _oon_. Now, goodbye.”

He reaches out to grab the handle, stopping as another sensation tugs at his core. It is not something foreign, but it feels strange. As the suspense reaches its peak, Loki’s fingers twitch to swing the door open, for the thing outside reeks with such familiarity it makes his stomach churn.

Pausing to mumble something under his breath, Loki casts a simple, veiling spell. It subtly hides his seidr from those experience with _magic_. Even with those who only have basic knowledge.

The heavy wooden doors open with elegance and with startling softness, that despite having prepared himself seconds earlier for what was to come, his mouth goes dry as soon as his eyes land on the person who stands in front of him.

“Loki, my dear,” a beautiful voice says. “Are you well?”

Behind him, there is movement. Shifts and rustles of clothing from Lady Sif and the Warrior Three are the only sounds that go along with the crackling fire; they no doubt salute their Queen.

Loki takes no notice. Only by hearing simple words, and he is like a child again.

The voice is so soft. And kind. And everything Loki thinks he’d never be able to hear again.

He is left gaping at the sight of his mother, and with as much honesty as he can say, he can't bear it. She's as beautiful as the last time Loki saw her in person. No illusions and out of a cell.

But to see her standing, talking and _alive,_ happy—hurts. It hurts the soul he has sold off for the safety of another.

The regret comes crashing, then. Like a cool sheet of silk wrapping around his neck, it begins to strangle him. And he can only stare, remembering and marveling at the last words spoken to her; the last words that now seems horribly rude reminisce through his skull. The act of being a disappointment and pushing her away is still fresh in his mind.

_[Why did you never think of coming back for her?]_

_[You wanted to go to the library first? Did you forget your own mother lives? Stupid boy.]_

Suddenly, Loki cannot breathe. The golden wallpaper starts to come close.

_[At first news Thor was dead you jumped at a chance to save him, but why not her?]_

Sif narrows her eyes, inspecting and surely disapproving of Loki’s behavior; as he stands stiff as a board, mouth pressed into a thin line, and eyes that hold suspicious silence.  

“You do not say hello to the queen?” Hogun speaks out, noticing the behavior also.

Loki opens his mouth to answer, but the queen beats him to it. She smiles warmly at him. “Bah, no worries, for this young man is surely surprised by his mother’s beauty,” she jokes, before turning her head beckoning him to come closer.

“Forgive me,” he says, finally finding his voice. “I don’t particularly feel well...at the moment.”

Loki can feel the glare Sif sends, like icy daggers across his back.

Frigga’s smile disperses. “Come with me then, for I shall take you to the healers.”

Sif lets out a disbelieving scoff as Loki takes four steps forwards, and stands by his mother. Loki ignores Sif of course, and his own tight smile flits across his face. With a look of farewell from the Queen, both mother and child exit the room with pleasing silence.

_[Are you afraid, child?]_

Loki keeps his eyes trained ahead, his ears pick up on the sounds of his feet dragging themselves on the floor. His heart twists painfully at the soft humming Frigga makes.

 _Yes, I am,_ he admits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is evident and clear that Loki and Frigga are the closest to each other in the movies. Thor, probably second closest because he does not fully understand, does not wish to see, or is truly ignorant to the conflicts that gnaw at his brother’s heart.  
> Reviews are welcome and appreciated.


	3. Compulsory Touching

**CHAPTER THREE**

 

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_“I'll have to mark you, of course,” the Sorceress continues, her cloak rippling with her movements. “Part of the contract does require pain, obviously. Questions before I begin?”_

_“You’re going to brand me?” Loki asks, incredulous to the idea of physically marking_ —claiming _a body. “Branding? As in what some do to their cattle?”_

_“Such harsh words, child.” The Sorceress chuckles as she unveils a book from underneath the cloth. “It is after all part of the deal, and another reason is so you don't forget.”_

_“Forget what?” Loki eyes her wearily, and suspiciously. “I could never possibly forget this deal.”_

_“No one forgets the deal,” she says sharply, “no matter how hard they try.”_

_“Then what it is?” Loki asks very intrigued. “What could possible be forgotten?”_

_“Time,” she announces in a harsh whisper, her scraggy finger pointing. “Everyone seems to think they have forever. I’m told too often time seems to disappear and flutter away in the wind.”_

_Loki shifts stiffly in his seat. He crosses his arms over his chest, and leans back._

_The Sorceress notices the apparent withdrawal. “Do not worry. I won’t mark you in any barbaric way,” she reassures. “I will use magic. Now, stick out your arm and try not to scream.”_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

“You feel unbalanced,” Frigga declares as soon as they round a corner that brings them to the private wing. “To some, having come from such unpredictable and sudden battle in such weather, may cause illness or fatigue. I should know.”

With a swift and graceful movement, she cranes her neck to cast him a wise and knowing look. To such gesture, Loki lets out a small chuckle, clearly amused by Frigga’s actions. And as they continue walking, Loki—keeping a perfect sync in steps to hers—lets the calm silence reign while he ponders over what to say. Or, what to feel.

“You are quiet,” Frigga concludes at his own silence. An underlying tone in her voice clearly shows concern that had not yet reached her eyes. “Nothing to say? Perhaps, you’re truly hurting?”

“No, mother,” he answers, the unused word gliding out with smoothness, despite sounding strange on his tongue. “I’m not hurting, nor am I gravely injured. Thank you for the concern.”

Frigga nods in understanding. Her fingers rise to smooth out her braided hair. “Aye,” she says, slowing her steady pace. Once again, she turns her head and begins to inspect Loki. Her eyes glimmer with warmth, and though the light emitting from the torches is enough to light up the entirety hallway, Loki feels a bitter cold seep through his limbs.

He opens his mouth to say _something—_ something random to dispose of such uneasy feelings—but Frigga cuts in as smoothly as he has. “But despite such a battle that took place, I believe you were smart enough to draw back, which result in little to no wounds as you tell me. Which this means you do not need healers,” she says.  

At the such brash and bold statement, Loki raises his eyebrow in mild concern. Yet more amusement plays part of his worry. “The fight was harsh indeed,” he begins slowly. “The cold was as biting as a snake, but it was forgotten in the heat of battle.”

“I know you feel much discomfort with them,” Frigga continues, considering his words. “I’ll assume your unease is from aching joints. The straightforwardness is a result from little time.”

_[Odin. You are being summoned by Odin.]_

_[She must’ve been sent to fetch you.]_

His thought are confirmed when Frigga keeps speaking, giving him no chance to retaliate or comment on her words. “I'll wait for you,” she says, coming to a stop. “I’ll check for any discomforts that ail you. But clean up quickly, for the All-Father requires our audience.”

Loki nods. “Alright,” he replies, his body vibrating with anticipation as the familiar great door of his room come into view. “Alright.”

Giving one last glance to his mother, he trots ahead lightly despite the adrenaline that seems to run through his veins. He all but bursts through the heavy doors, and heads to the bathroom without so much as sparing a glance at anything that may be about his room.

When the soapy and flowery scents fill his nostrils, he turns around and locks himself in the pristine bathroom. He stands for a second, breathing in the fresh smells, and thinks, _he needs time._

Time to understand the reality of the situation—that his mother _still lives_ , because that’s simply a surreal feeling. He wants to to panic alone in silence, weep in darkness, to think in solitude.

_[The All-Father is not a patient man, remember, boy.]_

Loki inspects himself in the bathroom mirror, and as he traces a finger over his cheeks he broods over his innocent looking eyes and marvels at his juvenile face that is free of scars and-- It is just so much in so little time.

He bends over the washbin and completely soaks his face with warm water. Once doing so he strips of his clothing, taking notice his hair is much shorter than he likes it. The more he focuses on it, the worse it feels, and he’s left feeling exposed and vulnerable as he stares at such paleness of his skin.

_[Anyone can strike you down. All your enemies will know-]_

He blinks quickly, and with haste he dismisses such perturbing thoughts with a cold spray of water. Then, he gingerly reaches for a towel that lays draped to his side, and prepares his clothing; elegant leather that is comfortable but suitable for the presence with the king.

When Loki painstakingly manages to pull on the last remaining bit of clothing—side ever so beginning to throb once again—he quickly steps out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.

It takes Loki maybe two seconds as he stares at his comfortably set bed before he decides that he will never be sleeping in it ever again.

_[Afraid to sleep in a dead man’s room?]_

Loki grits his teeth, ready to turn, to walk out and ask some servants to prepare another bedchamber for him, but stops himself.

He is much smarter than that. He will not be sloppy, or careless.

Not to mention, it is not of import now. A sudden change in bedchambers on the day of Thor’s banishment, the day the Jotun’s ‘broke’ into the vault, would surely cause rumors. People would start to wonder. They would start to question and doubt. The people would still whisper and talk behind his back and get in the way, and that would just _not_ work.

**o-o-o**

When Frigga places her hands onto Loki’s sides, her eyes suddenly widen with a sudden display of shock, Loki fears he had been discovered.

_[Pull away. Pull away, pull away pull away, pullawaypullaway-]_

”My boy,” she chides playfully, despite that her voice is laced with concern. “What a fight in Jotunheim it must’ve been, for these ribs are...very much bruised.”

_[You must be careful! She is a smart woman, maybe even too smart.]_

“Aye,” Loki says, gritting out the words as his hand instantly reaches to push her away. “The snapping winds and heat of the battle made me forget. It does not bother me anymore.”

_[pullawaypullaway-]_

“There is another spell here...” Frigga says, her eyes closing in concentration “Strange...”

_[You will be discovered and you shall die. Pull. Away.]_

Loki shivers slightly as her seidr pulls the strings on his intricately hidden, subtle spell. But they do not break or snap. Frigga breathes in deeply. “It masks—no… it _relieves..._? Did you put something to relieve the pain? I’ve not seen such a thing before,” she admits. “Not like this.”

The confusion is so clear on her face, Loki opens his mouth to answer. Relief echoes, and runs down through his body like a waterfall.

But a sudden hum of pain digs itself into his head, so he settles for nodding stiffly first.

“Aye,” he says, heeding the warning. “Something I came up with; it does help lessen the pain.”

“You should’ve gone straight to the healers,” Frigga says, pulling back with a sigh, before her worry turns into growing pride. “But it amazes me you keep learning— _growing_ stronger with knowledge every day. I’m proud; for weaving such spells that relieve pain aren’t always the easiest.”

Lying is something that has easily flowed out of him almost as equal to breathing. It had been a defense mechanism in the past—a way to escape difficult situations. Using logical reasonings and connecting with people made his words more believable. He is a liar—and a good one.

But now it makes his heart twist painfully, and Loki swallow down the pride. “Many thanks mother.” He bows, testing his now healed side and smiles. “I am much better, fully in the process of healing.”

“Good,” she says, turning. “Now let us meet with the All-Father.”

**o-o-o**

Loki immediately knows something is amiss without having to think much of it. From afar, he observes as Odin paces in his study, Gungnir gripped tightly in his hand. His desk is covered with scattered scrolls and papers, the fire is on it’s last log, and the silk drapes have been pulled together.  

Frigga seems to notice his distress too, for her steps slightly falter before she gives Loki another look. “Let me speak with him first,” she murmurs, putting a hand in front of his chest to stop his walk. “He is expecting you, so I will be quick.”

_[It appears he knows who let the Jotuns into Asgard.]_

A sudden prick of unease settles over his body, despite knowing that what is done is done. He locks eyes with his mother and nods. “Go,” he says.

Loki waits far enough from them that he cannot hear anything, not that he wants to hear anything. Frigga and Odin talk in hushed voices and quiet mumbles and hand movements. Their lips open and close so little that Loki cannot make out words.

Odin looks wary and pale in the soft, gold lighting, it makes Loki’s stomach churn.

_[He withers away and you know what will happen.]_

“My, son,” Odin begins, turning away from Frigga to face Loki. He waves at him to come closer, and says, “My apologies to have kept you waiting.”

With a quick nod of approval from Frigga, Loki strides forward, unwavered by Odin's hard glare before he stops midway. “All-Father,” he says. “You have asked for my presence.”

“Oh, yes,” Odin says, making his way behind Loki to shut the doors to his study. “A very important talk.”

_[What foolish thing did you do to give it away?]_

Loki stays still and silent, his eyes travel to his mother but she is another immovable statue.

_[He knows, he knows, he knows. You’ll be banished just like Thor.]_

“As you know, due to Thor’s ill actions and rampid desire for battle, he has been banished.” Odin retreats deeper into the room, and sits in his chair as the shadows fall onto his wrinkled face. “Under no circumstances are Lady Sif and the Warrior Three are to bring Thor back,” he says sternly.

The earlier confusion and anxiousness that settles in Loki’s guts disperses like water in a desert. He can’t help but let out a confused but relieved sigh.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks. “I have no say to what...Thor’s friends chose to do.”

Odin purses his lips. “It may be true, but you are still a prince. Loki Odinson, the Second Prince Of Asgard, son of Odin Borson _—King_ of Asgard.”

_[He still thinks of you as a son.]_

Odin reaches out to grab Loki, probably to caress him or clap him on the shoulder, but Loki steps back a bit too harshly. The action brings forth a frown to Odin’s face, and a scolding look from Frigga, but she says nothing. Odin lowers his hand, dropping it like a sack of meat.

“War is on the brink Loki,” he sighs, “and I fear that that Thor’s foolish actions have brought forth something I cannot stop. Jotunheim has always remained a hostile yet a perceptive force ever since the war. Their anger of defeat and humiliation has clouded their judgment.”

“Sorry to disrupt. But what do Sif, Volstagg, Hogun and Fandral gave anything to do with this war you fear of?” Loki asks. He feels nothing but a mixture of confusion and his skin itches with anticipation that there is something more. There is always something more.

It is then, when Odin swiftly walks up to him, and claps him on his shoulder with his calloused hands. As he does so, Loki’s minds screams.

[ _pullawaypullaway_ ]

“Do not fear to do the right thing,” Odin explains. “Thor’s friends are loyal. But sometimes loyalty can lead consequences that one doesn’t think about.” Odin’s vibrant blue eye, pierces through him. “Don’t be afraid to make people remember who their leader is—who is above them.”

Loki slinks back as graceful as a cat, relief overcoming his body. But thoughts and horrible ideas run free in his mind. “I don’t know what you mean. Why are you telling me this?”

“My Sleep approaches Loki,” Odin admits, casting a woeful glance ot his wife who sits idle, but observant. “Thor is gone, my sleeps approaches. The line of duty falls in your hands.”

_[This must be a mistake. Odin would not give the throne to a monster.]_

Loki steps back, his face darting back and forth. True, pure and _real_ disbelief taint his otherwise once-calm face. “What?” he splutters, a hope he hadn't known to be present, dying in his chest. “Surely you don’t just plan on giving me Gungnir just like that. What you the people say?”

Odin turns sharply to face him. “When I feel my strength start to dwindle, I shall make you King in front of the people. They _shall_ obey you—their new king—as they once obeyed me.”

_[But he will fall today-]_

The shock is real—as real as it felt so long ago, all except for the hollowness and despair that don’t accompany this time. “When will your Sleep arrive?” Loki asks, his hands tingling. “I need time to prepare. I need advice—”

“No, Loki,” Odin says, his gaze falling to a painting of Yggdrasil he has mounted on his wall. “I do not truly know, but I suspect my Sleep to come soon, mayhaps in a few days.”

_[Yes, few days...Odin hasn’t yet received the shock of you finding out your heritage.]_

_[You have not caused him grief and despair.]_

Loki’s mouth snaps shut and his eyes lower to the ground. “Is that all?” he asks.

Odin nods, his lips once again drawn into a tight smile. “You may go, if you wish.”

And as Loki’s mind spins, he bows to both the All-Mother and All-Father that have levitated to each other, and now stand side by side. “I shall heed your advice,” he says to Odin. He looks at both of them, and with sincerity, adds, “Thank you for this meeting. I’ll take my leave now.”

He twirls on his heels and trots to the heavy doors, feigning nonchalance. With a steady posture, he forces the doors open. Once his face is met with the coolness of air in the hallway, Loki quickly walks to his room, and doesn’t look back.

**o-o-o**

His room isn’t much better, if he were to truly admit it.

Everything looks wrong. Feels, and reeks of it too. Wrongness seems to ooze and pour out of every crack and corner of the room. He just can’t point anything out—it just feels _wrong_.

It is truly painful to see his sanctuary—his refuge—reduced to a simple room with no meaning. He’s spent years upon years and decades, centuries, a _millennium_ roaming these very floors with such ease it was almost unnatural. But as Loki quietly slinks into the center of it all as if he were an intruder in a home, it occurs to him; this is not his room anymore.

There is no dust or dirt settling on the floor, underneath the bed, or on his books. There is no familiar chill or a cold draft, which Loki knows all too well is caused when the fire has been out for a long time. There are no spider webs indicating Loki has ever been gone for years. Because just this morning, in this time, he was ready to fall into his bed, most likely joyous of Thor's misfortune.

_[There is nothing left for you here.]_

This room belongs to a stranger. The thought is like a punch to his gut; sickenly strong and forceful as threatens to bring up bile. Though he knows, someone foolish and naive, blindly believing he could gain his father’s love. Someone who did not yet know of true pain and sorrow

Taking a step back allows for Loki to see his elegant green cape strung across his bed. The one that he had been worn to Thor's coronation. He ignores it like a raging fire, and reaches across to open one of his drawers. And as he pulls out a healing stone, retreating to the bathroom once again—for the pain in his side has begun to hurt again—his heart throbs like a beating drum at the thought that it is as if Frigga had not taken her gentle hands to heal her hurting son.  

**o-o-o**

Loki ends up accidentally falling asleep in the tub, which is a crucial mistake. One second he’s sitting on the edge of the tub, stroking his short hair, and the next, he’s wakes with a horrible aching neck and pounding noises that come from everywhere. They echo horribly. They sound like explosions. They are loud. _So_ loud.

He forgets where he is. The noises of bombs that send jolt and waves of pain are disorienting. In a moment of utter panic and confusion, he tumbles of the side of the tub and collapses on his knee, pain immediately sprouting and leaping up and down his leg Though, it painful, it brings him out of his crazed state in a blink of an eye.

**o-o-o**

In the end, it’s a guard. Young and short. “The Queen requires your immediate assistance,” he says quickly, noticing Loki’s glare and rumpled hair. “Apologize for waking you, my Prince.”

The dark, black inkinesss of the halls are proof that it is still nighttime. Loki guesses it’s midnight, knowing all too well he has slept a couple of hours at most. His body sways dangerously as he unsteadily balances himself on his feet. A mild, sharp pain engulfs his head and the continuous pounding noises continue to echo in his mind, fueling his growing headache.

“The servants?” Loki asks agitatedly, tongue sharp and demanding. “What of the servants?”

“I know not my prince. I have direct order from the Queen herself, to-”

Thoughts of guilt plague him, even though he knows not where they come from. His tongue is uncontrolled. Without meaning to, he barks, “What could she possibly want at this hour?”

“I know not, my prince,” he answers again. “Only that your presence is utmost important.”

“Well, alright,” Loki says, running a hand through his rampant hair. “Let me be on my way.”

**o-o-o**

When Gungnir is placed gently on his hands, Loki feels empty. It is almost the same feeling his first experience, except the dread arises only because he knows what he must do. He stares blankly at the carving of Gungnir as Frigga tells him in echoes that _Asgard is his._

_[See? We told you Odin would fall prey to Odinsleep.]_

The memory of the last time he witnessed Odin fall into the Odinsleep lingers like a headache, crawling and digging it’s nails into his scalp as it cackles with laughter at his unease.

_[You should trust me. I know what’s best.]_

A sudden deep exhaustion that creaks in his bones, drains his limbs, and the guilt that eats away at his stomach takes the chance to strike him. He turns after a few moments, though, bowing to his mother, the Queen of Asgard, to show gratitude and utmost respect. The Queen nods at him but remains where she is, holding her husband’s hand and staying by his side.

It stings. But Loki has no time for petty emotions.

He inspects the All-Father’s spear to make it seem like he is enthralled and interested in its design. And as his eyes pass over the guards, he externality tries to hold in a crazed giggle as his eyes pass over their emotionless features.

_[If only they knew.]_

Loki can feel the burning sensation underneath his skin at the thought. Then, he turns. Gripping Gungnir as tightly as he can, he starts to head to the exit. He walks quickly, now ignoring the blurry of faces of the guards as they lower their heads in respect as he passes. These actions leave his face perspiring and body burning.

He doesn't know whether it’s from embarrassment or rage.

“Long live King Loki,” Frigga calls out after him, her voice soft and joyous as it’s carried down the halls beside the wind. It echoes through the silence of the palace.

_[This is what a silvertongue does. Makes people see what they want to see.]_

And he smiles into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eh


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**o-o-o**

**Full Summary:** [Time Travel AU] Thor's dead; it's as simple as that. Loki tells himself he shouldn't care, because he'd never cared. Yet, as he finds himself entering the Forbidden Place, the mantra, the lie, the denial is washed away. It's convenient that Thor has died; yet another reason to start over. But a can someone miss another enough to do anything? Probably, Loki thinks.

 

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_ The Sorceress sits there, smiling like she has won the greatest prize of all. Loki thinks perhaps she has. Instant regret strikes his mind as he tries to perceive what he has just allowed.  _

_ “Well, there you have it.” She clasps her bony hands, resting her book aside, a smug smile tugging at her lips. “Our pact is finally sealed.”  _

_ Loki waits, trying to claw some words out from his dry throat. “So what happens now?” he rasps, shifting in his seat careful not to inflame his healing wound.  _

_ The Sorceress blinks. “Once your time is up, I shall receive my end of the deal.” _

_ Loki narrows his eyes. Anger and the humiliation of defeat—although there has been no battle—starts to take hold. “I meant when do I receive my part of the deal?” he growls. _

_ “Whenever I want it to,” she snaps, her voice like a dagger—cold and precise. Then, she smiles and changes the topic like a gentle breeze. “I wonder how you were before. And after too. After you fell in the Void, when you were defeated by your brother’s companions.” _

_ Loki feels his perfect posture falter. “That Loki died a long time ago,” he replies, emotionless. “After the Void, he was all but a husk of himself.  Maybe he’d even been dying before that.” _

_ The Sorceress hums. “Funny, but true. Once you return, you’ll be anew.  Decisions can be made.” _

_ Loki stares off into the distance, waiting for something to happen. “I hope so,” he says. _

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Loki doesn't sleep. He. just. Can’t.  _ Sleep _ . 

It’s not by choice, obviously. His body aches and his muscles strain at every movement. A soreness, feeling close to a sickness, latches it’s claws and spreads all over his limbs despite having used healing stone after healing stone. He watches them disintegrate in vain, crumbling into dust as he crushes them in his fingers. Nothing gets better. 

The bed is a temptation, calling and singing out to him. The softs fur that bring warmth and comfort beckon at him. Sleep, too, pulls at his body, and melodies as soothing as mother’s lullaby are spun in his mind. Sleep—it’s something he yearns for. But sleep, at the moment, also seems like a suffocating end filled with darkness and nightmares. 

So, Loki paces. His eyelids tug and droop and the bed starts screaming at him; but he concentrates on moving one foot in front of another. It fills up his mind with noises instead of voices that tear their way to the surface. 

When he grows weary of pacing, his legs stiff, he eyes Gungnir from afar. The golden staff that lays in the same frozen position to where he threw it, seems to taunt him. Ever so glowing and pulsing through the air with forbidden magic and knowledge and  _ power. _

It occurs to Loki as tears his gaze away from Gungnir and into the raging red of the fireplace, that he does not want anything that belongs to Odin. 

It’s such a sudden realization, it leaves him feeling disgusted and shaken. He rushes to the bathroom and scrubs his hands until they are red and sore. Then, he promptly ignores the object laying on the bed when he clambers out, his hands now their regular color. 

Gungnir is an object, just an  _ object _ that symbolises power. 

_ [But it has power...powers…] _

The thought that he might have to wield Gungnir, to have it by his side as long as he remains king, makes his skin prickle. It makes his legs vibrate, makes his head spin and stomach churn. 

He doesn’t not want to have anything to do with Odin. He does  _ not _ want anything that belongs to Odin. 

Not the throne, either.  _ Never _ the throne. Only to be recognized, to be Thor’s equal.

A sharp jab of pain that sizzles down his body and exits through his fingers, reminds him; he is here because he chose to be.

_[People will respect you if you have the throne._ _They won’t dare question what you do.]_

_ [But what good is all that when the walls seem to close in on you?] _

Loki stays still, pondering over such thoughts that leave him confused and angry. 

Gungnir makes his anxious, that much is true. The reasons? Too many to count. He feels tiny needles climb up his skin that make his skin break into a light layer of sweat. It makes him want to throw up or break a wall. Maybe even both, although the latter is more appealing.

_ [You should go sparring with the warriors, maybe, to relieve your anger.] _

Loki’s lips curve up into an amused sneer. Never, he thinks. 

_ [Then go back to your work.] _

He nods then, finding the comment appealing. And he turns his focus onto what he has been working on, leaving his dark thoughts to settle in his mangled head, his vision soon falls upon the clutter on the ground. There crumpled scrolls, papers, charts, books, and so much more laying around, that he can barely even see his floor. 

_ [Make haste. Hide all of them, so the servants don’t find it.] _

Loki steps over his things carefully and gracefully, eyes languidly passing over every single one of his ideas, thoughts, and plans. He stands aside, reclined against the wall as he reaches to grabs a book to his left. He inspects it: the text is an old spell book that had been no use to him before. But before he had been weaker. In the past, he had been unable to properly understand and comprehend that magic was not only for tricks or mischief or  _ fun _ . 

He’s somewhat proud that he has accomplished so much in the hours of the night. He’s written and has repeating phrases and spells until they’ve been perfected —until they’ve been engraved in his memory that he does not even have to think about them. 

**o-o-o**

_ [You have so much work to do before Thor comes back.] _

_ [You have three days. And nothing seems to have changed, for the All-Father still fell.] _

The scattered papers that had lain in heaps and mounds everywhere, are now gone. Cast away, hidden in pockets of the universe that no one would ever find. Loki is sure of it. 

The sun has seeped through his curtains, put he pays no mind as he carries on, jotting, plotting, whispering and chanting in his head.

There is a low grumble that sends ripples. Loki, focused on his spells, looks up and around in dismay, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. Only then, as another noise fills up the room, and as a familiar hollow emptiness pulses in his stomach, does Loki remember he needs to eat. The sudden thought comes like a flash of light. Blinding and powerful. He lifts his chin up, and looks at himself in the mirror, those juveniles eyes staring back. 

_ [Eating is not a necessity. There is so much to do.] _

And yet with so many things the spiral around, calling for attention in his mind, Loki finds himself bored. But he does want to eat. 

_ [Go to the throne room. Wait there. For you know Thor’s friends will come...] _

And so he goes to the throne room, the guards lowering their head in his wake as he sits on the flat surface of the golden throne and waits for the fools. 

**o-o-o**

It never fails to amuse him. How they come, their heads lowered, bowing—down on their knees and their shoulders relaxed in submission, and then looking up, expecting to see Odin—only to find in horror that another has ascended to the throne.  _ Loki _ has ascended into the throne.

A hanging silence spreads like a curling frame, slowly eating and consuming everything in its path. They cast confused glances, weary looks. Unease settles in their eyes

“So it is true,” Fandral whispers, before standing up quickly. 

Sif doesn’t speak. Her mouth hangs agape and her eyes stare right through him. Blinking rapidly, she narrows her eyes. “Where is Odin All-Father?” she asks, her voice laced with confusion. 

“Where is Odin?” wonders Fandral out loud, too. 

Using his weary outlook, Loki rises. “Odin has fallen into the Odinsleep,” he says, using vague snippets of grief and weariness to mend into his voice. But not too much.

“And what of the Queen? May we speak to her?” Volstagg asks.   
_[Make it hard for them. Make anger reign in their hearts.]_

“Why?” Loki asks,  _ knowing _ . “She stands by Odin’s bedside, unmoving and still, until he wakes. You can bring any matters to me,” he pauses, savoring the words, “your king.” _   
_         Sif nods, recovering quickly, stepping forward. “King . . . Loki,” she says reluctantly, testing the words on her mouth before resuming. “You are now, well . . .  _ King _ ,” she looks at him, “we ask that you end Thor’s banishment so he came come home. You can bring him  _ home. _ ” 

Odin’s words ring through Loki’s mind:  _ Do not let them bring Thor back. _

Loki breathes deeply. “My first command can not be to undo the Allfather's last,” he says, savoring the words, remembering the first time he'd said them.  

Fandral stares at the floor and Volstagg appears to want to say something. But he doesn’t. Hogun keeps a solid face. They all know better.

“Do you not care at all for your brother?” Sifs asks. Her mouth is pressed in a thin line.  “Using your silver tongue to twist minds, to get out of trouble and you can’t do something simple-”

“Sif!” Volstagg snaps, gripping her arm with a haste movement. Then he turns to face Loki, fear evident in his stiff posture. “King Loki, deep apologizes for her erratic behavior.” He bows deeply, tugging at Sif’s arm, urging her to do the same. 

She doesn’t.

_ [See? Nothing has changed. Maybe you’ve come back for no reason. Nothing seems to change.] _

“I care about Thor. Almost too much,” Loki says, his voice terse and truthful. He waves a hand to dismiss the outburst and Volstagg apology. “That is also another reason why if I had the authority to bring Thor back would not do so.” Loki raises his chin, ready to turn away. “Now, any more questions? I have things to do. After all, a king is always busy.”

Heavy and uncomfortable silence follows. 

Hogun looks impassively at Loki, his lips beginning to turn upwards to protest.  

Loki lowers his head, declaring, “My answer is no. You can’t and I won’t bring him back.”

The Warrior Three give each other stolen glances. And Lady Sif purses her lips. 

“Perhaps we should go to the Queen,” Sif says quietly, averting her attention from Loki to her companions. “She may be more lenient than you at her duties.”

“She has refused to leave my father's bedside,” Loki repeats, “did you not hear my words? I have the power now. You can consult your issues to me. And I am here, and I have said no.”

“Yes,” Fandral agrees hurriedly, insisting—always insisting, pushing, even though it has been decreed. “You have power. Enough power to end Thor’s  _ banishment _ .” 

_ [It's fun, isn't it? Watching them chase their tails.] _

“Thor has only been banished to Midgard,” Loki says, shrugging. He grows impatient, realizing that this argument must end soon so that he can leave.

“Only?  _ Only? _ ” Sif asks. Loki’s calmness about the situation seems to fuel her rage. “You make is seem like his banishment is a fickle thing!”

Hogun grips her arm so that she can control her own rage, and she quiets herself. “Banished to Midgard, you say?” Hogun asks. 

_ [Funny how easily they are angered. Send them away. You said no. You are king.] _

“Yes, Hogun,” he answers instead, his fingers running over the smooth surface of the throne. The tapping ceaseless and growing. “But Lady Sif, I assure you it is not a fickle thing,” Loki reassures. 

Sif stares.

_ [You might still fall into the Void if nothing appears to be changing.] _

The softs whispers of voices don’t impeded that the message was meant to be heard. Loki freezes, his throat becoming tight as his grip on Gungnir tightens. Waves of shock and numbness send chills down his body. “All-Father has ensured his return only when Mjolnir fits him worthy,” Loki says, quietly. “He’ll return when the time comes. Now shut up and be on your way.”

Volstagg drums his finger over his beard. “Why tell us this now? And not before?”

Just as he’s about to answer; that watching them fret was more amusing, an excellent idea pops up in his head so suddenly, he has barely enough time to grasp it all before it disappears. He is left unblinking and still, as he ties loose ends of the string together in his head. The rest only stare at their King’s sudden silence.

_ [A carefully laid out plan, thought up meticulously in seconds. Stunning.] _

“Well, to answer your questions,” he pauses, “is that you always ask the wrong questions.” But even as he says this, there are words and even more questions that still linger in the air. Loki acknowledges them. “Make sure Thor remembers to come back home to us,” he says simply. 

“You will let us go to him?” Sif’s tone is unsure and hesitant. But they hold hope.

“I said you couldn’t bring him back to Asgard,” he states, his fingers gripping the handle, a small smirk forming on his lips. “But I didn’t say you couldn’t go see him on Midgard, now did I?”

_ [Clever indeed. Make them believe they are leaving on their own free will.] _

“Truly?” Fandral asks. “You’ll let us go? You don’t jest?”

Loki sends a glare and cracks his neck. “Go. Before I change my mind. He wanders in a desert in Midgard. Make haste before the fool does something reckless.”

Fandral and the rest give each other more glances—ones of triumph and relief. Sif kneels so quickly Loki does not have the time to register what is happens. “Thank you,” she says. 

And as they scurry away, murmuring excitedly under their breaths, their footsteps growing fainter and fainter, Loki scoffs to himself and turns, making his way to his chambers.

_ [Desperate enough to change paths of others when you already have laid out?] _

**o-o-o**

Stripping of the clothes he wore the day before, Loki draws up a bath and sinks into it. He feels the water sooth his muscles and caress his overused body. Breathing deeply, he allows himself to sink further, so the water rises up to his neck. 

For a fleeting moment, he wonders what would happen if he were to drown …

_ [If you were to drown, your soul would be ripped from your body, and everyone would die.]  _

Loki immediately resurfaces, his breaths come in short, ragged pants. 

He stays still for a very long time, allowing his heart to settle from the sudden panic.

Eventually, the water gets cold and icy, but he does not step out. He sits still, shivering as he vaguely watches water droplets roll down his hair. His attention is focused solely to his hands which are held out in front of him. He observes his wrist and clenches his other hand in silent rage.

**o-o-o**

After finishing his bath, Loki changes, heading to the All-Father and All-Mother’s chambers.

**o-o-o**

It is not surprising to find Frigga beside the All-Father. Except for the change in attire—her flowing yellow dress replaced by a more somber blue—it almost seems that she has not to moved at all. Small, skillful and frail fingers interlace with those of the All-Father. She sits tentatively beside him, eyes warm and loving. 

Loki stays calm anyways, cherishing the way his mother’s hair gleams under the light. “Hello, mother,” he says finally, making his presence known as he strides silently by her side.

Only then, does Frigga tear her eyes from her husband to look up. “Hello, my son.” Her eyes follow Loki as he saunters over to where she sits. “You did not show up to at breakfast.”

It’s no reason to get upset. The question itself is harmless, but Loki can’t help but feel the question is like an accusation taking hold. Her tone says it all. “No, I did not,” he answers simply. He places Gungnir on the bed, trying not to seem too eager to let it go.

Frigga doesn’t seem to want to back down. She looks up, blue eyes curious. “May I ask why?”

“Why?” Loki asks, incredulous to why he has to answer the question. “Why I didn’t wish to eat or why I didn’t eat at all? Do I need to give justifiable reasons why I woke up with hunger?”

Frigga watches him closely, letting her gaze fall down in defeat. Loki does not know what to make of this. He stays silent, feels the effects of the instant regret, and how it physically hurts him—adds to the ache already there. 

“I woke up with no need for hunger,” he replies, his voice lowering, trying . “Remember mother, I was not feeling that well last night.”

“Your are … ill again … uneasy,” Frigga concludes, her hands unclasping the All-Father’s, worry engraved in her voice. “What has happened to affect my healing in such a way that your pain has come back?”

_ [You fell into her trap. Clever woman.] _

“I strained myself, today,” he says, voice low as he pretends to be reluctant and regretful about admitting a defeat. “Being on the throne has also thrown me off balance, too many things bother me. Time are just stressful. Please try to understand. Perhaps, and I am sure, that is where my aches come from.”

_ [You liar.] _

Loki tilts his head down and gets a good look at Odin, who lays unmoving and old in his dome of a bed. “I don't think I will ever get used to seeing the All-Father like this,” he says softly, clearly changing the subject. “One of the most powerful beings in the Nine realms ... lying here, helpless, until his body is restored.”

“Only in a deep sleep, but not helpless,” Frigga sighs, casting a woeful look, one of utter tiredness. “You must stay strong, Loki. I know this is a sudden change, but you must stay strong.”

The oncoming silence that threatens to consume the already tense room allows for Loki to break the news sooner than he would have liked to. It is like the snap of a whip against a cool breeze. Sudden, loud, and sharp.

“I will go to Jotunheim today,” he says, seemingly out of the blue, although he has been thinking about it for almost the whole day. “Probably in a few hours.”

Frigga quickly raises her chin, a clear face of surprise and mild shock on her face—Loki knows better though. “May I ask why, my King?” she asks.

“I need to … ” Loki stops, trying to find the right words. “I need to reconcile with their King. I need to clean up and fix Thor's reckless behavior. Apologize too, it will prevent war.”

“I shall ask Lady Sif and The Warrior Three to accompany you,” Frigga supplies, knowing all too well that when Loki has something in mind there is no way to talk him out of it. “They are warriors after all, they shall help you just in case—”

“They have gone to Midgard,” Loki cuts in cooly,  _ smuggly. _ A look of utter innocence plays at his features, it passes over his juveniles eyes, not fully looking menacing at all. His eyes do not betray his secrets. “I don’t know when they shall come back,” he says, “and I can’t wait for them.” 

“You have allowed them to bring back Thor?” Frigga asks, her voice stern, but it holds a shimmer of hope. Too much hope. “You … ? Disobeyed your father's orders—”

“No,” Loki cuts in again, keeping his voice impressively level, “never. But I was lenient, and allowed them to visit him. I would never allow the to bring Thor back unless he is worthy to rule.”

Frigga casts her look downwards, focusing on her husband. “You will go alone, my boy?”

“Yes,” he states icily, being harsh without meaning to. “I will go alone.”

_ [Be assertive. You are king.] _

Frigga opens her mouth but shuts it so quickly, Loki is left in awe and wondrous at the speed. The silence that has been at the brink of consuming the room, crashes onto both of them so suddenly, Loki regrets not falling asleep into oblivion forever.

_ ‘I’m sorry,’  _ he mouths,  _ ‘I’m so sorry.’ _

_ [But are you?] _

Frigga does not turn in time to see his parting lips. She does not turn at all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are appreciated, and sorry for any spelling mistakes.


End file.
